As You Wish
by 75mistakes
Summary: Driven by fear, loyalty, anger, and love, a knight of Westeros strives to save his daughter from a conspiracy and bring his closest friend out of exile.
1. Prologue: The Siege of Pyke: Geralt

The sun was rising. Ser Geralt Inverne looked out to the east. The dark blue faded as the great orange light rose about the grey-green sea. Clouds were great sheep of pink and violet. For a moment, the beauty of the scene took his breath away.

A hand gently nudged his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see a man in an iron helm. He wore plated armor covered by a green tunic embroidered with a black bear. The sight reminded Geralt that he was wearing heavy armor. He felt his fingers tighten on his lance and the horse between his legs shift. He remembered there was a battle to be fought.

His calm before the storm ended.

The walls of Pyke stood before the large army. Thousands of warriors from all across Westeros waited eagerly for the walls to crumble. On this day, the Ironborn would suffer for their rebellious ways.

Geralt watched as boulders slammed into the walls. They had to fall soon. He grew impatient.

"What troubles you, friend?" the warrior in green asked him. He had noticed Geralt beginning to shake in anticipation.

He turned to face him. "I have never asked for much. I've travelled far and wide across this continent without any rest. I fought in Robert's Rebellion. When peace was attained, these damned Greyjoys just had to think things were to quiet and start a commotion. All I want, Jorah, is to go back to my home and be with my wife and daughter."

"I envy you. How old is the child?"

"She'll be eight in two months," he calculated.

The catapults send their final barrage of stones. As stone collided with stone, the walls began to falter. As they crashed to the ground, the men on them tumbled while the men below were crushed. The earth shook.

The first to lead the charge was Thoros of Myr. He raised his sword, engulfed in fire. He was truly fearsome to behold.

Jorah Mormont drew his sword from his shoulder. "Gods be good and let you see her on her next nameday," he breathed hastily before following suit. Geralt quickly urged his mare to run into the breach as well. They were the first three to enter the fortress of Pyke, but they were most certainly not the last.

As he rode, warriors with axes, swords, and spears greeted him. His lance ran threw four men before sticking into a fifth particularly brawny guard. Quickly, Geralt drew his sword. The broadsword was unnaturally elegant for a weapon. Its hilt was covered with velvet of purple and green. Just above the hilt where the fuller should have begun was a thin hole. This did not disrupt the balance of the blade.

As Geralt hacked at several footmen, he could see King Robert dashing men with his war hammer. It was truly awe-inspiring to see him in his Stag helm. He looked like some kind of beast of legend.

Suddenly, his horse reared up. Geralt tried to calm it down, but to no avail. An Ironborn had speared her deep in the chest. The beast toppled over, throwing him off. He fell against a chunk of crumbled wall. His helm smashed into it, protecting him from serious injury. It was enough to knock him into the black world of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>A slap to the face woke him. His eyes shot open, once again on his friend Jorah. His brown hair was messy and he had a bruise on his cheek. Mormont no longer wore his armor. His green doublet unveiled the situation to Geralt.<p>

"We won?"

"Indeed."

He laughed. "You look terrible."

"You should see yourself." He handed Geralt a mirror. His gauntleted hand took it gently. His helmet had a dent from where he had fallen. A cut over his left eye had caused blood to trickle and coat half his face. The red made his green eyes stand out. His trimmed hair and beard was full of dust, turning it from cedar brown to ash gray.

Geralt began to remove his gauntlets. "How long was I out?"

"Only four hours. It was quick, just as you wanted."

He smiled.

Jorah handed him a flagon of ale. "Once everything is settled here, there is to be a celebration at Lannisport. Send a raven back to the Riverlands. I'm sure your girl will enjoy her first tourney."

Geralt sipped the ale and rose slowly. "Perhaps she will. She'll be blabbing about it to her friends". He laughed. He and Jorah walked towards the tents that had been set up for celebration. Geralt was eager to remove the rest of his armor and more eager to write the message to his beloved lady.

How he craved to see them smile.


	2. Daughter's Delight: Geralt

Geralt sat in his room by the hearth. The fire felt good on this cold night. There was no sound except for the crackling wood. It was the perfect time for him to ponder.

The door swung open with a loud _BANG_. Geralt craned his neck in around the back of the chair. A young girl with long brown hair stood in a dress of blue and green. Her shoes and stockings were covered in mud. She was followed by what appeared to be a large banner of the Inverne sigil: twelve stars—six green, six purple—on a black field.

"What madness have you been up to now, Alys?" Geralt laughed. He rose from the chair and crossed to the mass of cloth. He lifted it up to reveal Feris, Alys's pet striped hyena. He had purchased the beast in Dorne as a gift for her thirteenth birthday. He had meant for the animal to act as a guard, but he seemed to have all the ferocity of a pussycat. Often, he was found asleep with his head in either her or his lap, snoring loudly.

"I just went for a walk in the town." She was referring to Harrentown. No doubt she had been playing with the children along the muddy banks of the Gods Eye.

Geralt's smile turned into a frown. "Where is Patrek?"

Alys shrugged. Patrek was her bodyguard. Since the loss of his wife, Geralt grew very protective of his daughter. He did not want any chance of harm to come to her after the grim discovery they had made six years ago. He gave her a hard stare.

These looks always brought the truth out of her. "He's asleep. I told him I was going to go to bed early. I left out the window."

Feris slinked past Geralt and sprawled himself out by the fire. Alys looked down at her feet. Geralt gently lifted her chin with a finger.

"Why do you always run off like that?"

Her chestnut eyes met his of moss. "Because I don't want to feel like I'm caged."

"It's for your own safety."

"I'm perfectly safe. Who would want to do me harm? Lady Whent's guards keep order in the town. There's never anything exciting. I don't even remember the last time there's been a theft in Harrentown."

Geralt's face darkened. His seventeen-year-old daughter was a wild spirit. She had enjoyed riding horses and exploring new places. She had not been able to do these things and others for some time now.

Geralt strode to the chair and sat down. "I suspect you didn't come up here to reveal your mischievousness to me. What have you got there?" He had just noticed the letter in his daughter's hand.

"A raven came a few minutes ago. It's from King's Landing. Apparently there's going to be a tournament in honor of the new Hand of the King."

He thought for a moment._ Oh, yes. Jon Arryn died. What a shame. New Hand's Ned Stark. Excellent man._

She looked at him with her dark eyes. "Papa, can we please go to the Tourney?" Her eyes seemed to twice their size.

He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He leaned in close with a smile.

"What's our motto?"

_As you wish._ Instantly, her face brightened and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He almost fell to the ground on top of her. "Thank you, papa! I'll never forget this. I promise you won't regret it." She dashed out of the room, leaving a trail of mud in her wake.

Geralt sat in his chair and found himself staring at Feris. The beast lifted his head lazily.

"How could I have said 'no'?" The creature got up and placed his head in Geralt's lap, expecting a scratch. Ser Inverne obliged. Feris let out of small moan of content. "Especially when she looks at me with her mother's eyes?"

Geralt looked out the window. He'd prepare a carriage on the morrow. He already knew where he'd be staying. The only thing that bothered him was that King's Landing was a large city. It would be a huge temptation for his daughter. He sighed and stroked Feris's tan and black fur. The hyena let out another moan.


	3. Meeting the Spider: Geralt

The arrival of House Inverne was expected at King's Landing, as was the arrival of almost every other House in the Seven Kingdoms.

As they entered the Old Gate, they saw dozens of other knights and lords were making their way to into the city. Geralt looked over his shoulder to see Alys's bewildered face. Her brown eyes were wide and took in everything. Her mouth was slack. Patrek, her young bodyguard, was equally stunned. Feris raised his nose in the air and sniffed a plethora of aromas. Geralt smiled.

Alys steered her horse towards an alley of shops.

"Stop!" the blond guard called out. Alys was shaken for a moment. She looked to her father with a look of longing.

Geralt nodded his head. She smiled and took off with Feris beside her.

"Remember the address I told you," Geralt whispered to Patrek, "and don't you dare let her leave your sight."

The guard galloped after the knight's daughter. He is maneuvered his horse clumsily through the crowds. Geralt deemed Patrek eager to prove that he was the right man for Ser Inverne to hire.

The knight made his way down several streets. As he delved into the city, his surcoat became stained. He wore a white velvet surcoat with twelve leather stars; quickly, it turned brown, red, and yellow. It had been over a year since he had been in the city. It was the same as he left it.

He stopped outside of a two-storied building. The lower level was a shop that sold rare spices, jewelry, and other goods from across the Narrow Sea. He dismounted and entered. Cinnamon and paprika filled his nostrils. He climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor. He reached a door. _This will be our quarters_, he thought.

He reached for the knob. He noticed the door was not closed all the way. _Odd. Is someone here? _He pushed the door open and went inside. Sitting on a large cushion was a bald fat man in silks. Geralt had expected him to be waiting.

"You've gotten clumsy, Varys," he laughed. "The door was wide open. When are you going to surprise me?"

The man chuckled. "But you are surprised, Ser Geralt; surprised that I haven't come upon you in a more subtle fashion. However, I suppose this is rather subtle: a mediocre shop in a rundown alley. A perfect place for someone hoping to have stealth on their side."

"Fair enough," Geralt admitted. He reached to his side and loosened a coin purse from his belt. He tossed it to Varys. He knelt down and slid his hand into his mud-stained boot. Along with his hand, he pulled out a neatly rolled message. He gently handed it to his friend. "Can I trust you to deliver these?"

"Me, yes. As for my little birds, I'm not so sure. The prospect of having a certain amount of coin handed to them often leaves them feeling greedy. And the note might only serve to give thirst to their curiosity."

"Damn you, Varys! I need these delivered without your damned spies and sneaks acting out!" Geralt's voice was loud. He seldom raised his voice, but in this case, he felt very strongly about the subject.

The Eunuch simply smiled. "Forgive me, but you should have made that clearer to me. I'll be sure to have my finest bird carry it to Essos for you. Our friend across the Narrow Sea will be pleased to receive a gift from his old friend."

"Indeed he will. I intend to ask King Robert to end Jorah's exile."

"What makes you think he'll comply?"

Geralt looked down at his feet. _I don't know_.

"I suppose you also wish to know if I've gathered information about the incident." Instantly, Geralt's head jerked up, wide-eyed. He longed for this. "There is nothing new." Geralt sighed. "My mind has no doubt that the culprit is the same man I believed it to be six years ago. However—"

"There is no proof!" the knight bellowed. "I will not believe he killed her. I will not believe he killed his own sister!"

"Then who do you believe did the deed?"

_I don't know_.

"Well, while we're on the topic, I might as well tell you that your brother-in-laws are to participate in the tourney of the Hand. So many brave and gallant men will be there. Perhaps your daughter will be thrilled. It's a pity Lady Rowena will not be there to enjoy the spectacle."

It took all his strength to hold himself back from pummeling Varys. While the Spider may have venomous words, he still served a purpose to him. He had been a good friend to him in years past. Varys had once told Geralt he was one of the few trustworthy knights he had met. Whether this was an honest compliment or a flat lie, Geralt was unsure.

"I trust you and your daughter will find this abode to your liking. I must be off. There are many more pressing matters in the realm to be dealt with."

_How is the murder of innocents not pressing enough for you?_

The Spider calmly walked out of the room. Geralt sat down on a cushion. It was more comfortable than he thought it would be. He placed his head in his hands. He had started to already regret his trip to King's Landing.

An hour later, Alys came running into the room with her pet trotting behind her. Geralt raised his head from his grasp to see her smiling. Her face and dress of green silk were stained with dust and mud. Feris was equally dirty; he shook his coat and dust flew into the air. Alys scolded him.

Patrek came huffing and puffing up the stairs. His face was red. Sweat poured from his brow and matted his golden hair to his face. He was young and in shape, but the pairing of a reckless girl and a curious hyena kept him busy.

Geralt gave a soft smile. "Enjoying yourselves so far?"

He needed only to look at Alys's face to get his answer.

"The tourney starts tomorrow. We'd best get a good night's sleep. It's been a long day." He looked out the window. The sun was setting. He had hardly noticed until now.

"Are you going to joust or take part in the melee, Ser?" Patrek inquired. The bodyguard had been an admirer of Ser Geralt Inverne after hearing many stories of his heroism in Robert's and Greyjoy's Rebellions. He was eager to see if the knight lived up to those fables.

Geralt chuckled. "I'm afraid not. I only intended to watch. I'll only fight when I need to." He turned to Alys. "Your uncles are going to take part. Exciting, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. He expected as much. How could he blame her? From the stories she heard of them, they were nothing but terrible dogs with a knack for ripping others apart. She had little love for them. Geralt felt the same.


	4. The Mercenary Mourner: Alys

The tourney was quite a sight for Alys. She had never seen so many knights and lords in the same place. Knights from across the Riverlands would come to her father's manor outside of Harrentown. The only "Lord" she had ever met was Lady Whent. But now, she found herself surrounded by hundreds of banners belonging to countless houses. She was surprised at the amount of sigils she could recognize: Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Tyrell, Frey, Redwyne, Swann, Clegane, Mallister, Piper. The others she stared at with wide wonder, imagining who they belonged to.

She fidgeted in her seat. She was excited. Her eyes took in every knight she saw. They were stunning in their shining armor. Alys found herself blushing whenever a young man took his helmet off.

Patrek sat behind her. He was equally awestruck. His eyes darted from one knight to the next. However, his eyes also rested on a few pretty maids. One girl sat next to him and he turned beet red. She found his shyness cute. Alys felt relieved; she liked it when Patrek wasn't focusing on her. Since her father had hired him, she felt like the leash she was on had shortened.

Two young girls, one with auburn hair and the other with dark brown, sat beside her. They seemed as enchanted by the scenery as Alys. They introduced themselves as Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole. Quickly, the three began talking about who they thought would win the tournament and who they thought was the most handsome. Jeyne adored Lord Beric Dondarrion, while Sansa swooned over Ser Loras Tyrell. Alys's eyes were set on Ser Robar Royce.

Trumpets sounded and everyone grew quiet. King Robert stood from his seat and shouted for the next joust to begin. Two knights rode to the center of the lists to salute him. The first was young man wearing a blue tarbard over his armor. The other was a huge man covered from head-to-toe in heavy armor. His tarbard was yellow with three black dogs.

"Gods, who is that?" Sansa asked, staring at the larger man.

Alys answered. "He's Ser Gregor Clegane. He's one of Lord Lannister's knights."

The knights rode to opposite sides of the lists and waited. Another trumpet sounded. They charged at each other, lances couched. As they passed each other, the young knight's lance slammed into his opponents shield. It did not seem to faze him. The horses slowed as they went around the end of the post for the next pass.

The horses once again charged. This time, Ser Gregor's lance was aimed at the younger knight's gorget. The tip of the lance plunged between the gorget and his helm. It snapped off and the young man fell to the ground. Blood spurted out from his throat and mouth. Once his horse had galloped to the end of the list, Clegane dismounted and walked away.

Sansa and Jeyne's eyes were huge with fear. Alys turned to them. "On top of that, he's my uncle." She looked down at her feet. Moments later, a pair of suede boots entered her vision. She looked up to see a short richly dressed man standing in front of her. He had a pointed beard and a small smile.

"I couldn't help but hear that you were the niece of The Mountain That Rides. I know Sandor Clegane has no children, so you must be the daughter of Ser Geralt of Harrenhal."

Alys blinked at him. Patrek stood from his seat, placing his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "You are right, milord. I serve Ser Inverne and guard his daughter. Who are you?"

The nobleman laughed. "Forgive me for the intrusion. I am Lord Baelish. Many know me as the King Robert's moneyman. And I take your friend here is Lord Stark's daughter. What a pleasure."

Patrek slowly sat down, his hand still over the hilt. "I am pleased to meet you, Lord Baelish." Alys said. "I did not know my father was well-known in King's Landing."

"Your House has acquired a certain reputation throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the best way to describe Inverne is… queer?"

This was true. Legend claimed that the family came into being when a sellsword named Eisen had travelled to Highgarden in The Reach. The Tyrell who ruled during that time was strolling through the gardens when twelve men— six wearing green, six in purple— burst out from the bushes and slaughtered his guard. They terrorized the Lord, saying how The Reach would fall to Dornishmen. Lord Tyrell believed his harassers to be men of House Dayne and House Jordayne. Eisen came upon the men and challenged them all in a fight, twelve-to-one. They laughed and accepted. As they came at him, he destroyed them. One by one, they fell. The final man, he beat to get the man to confess his reasons for attacking the Tyrell. He learned that the twelve of them were men serving numerous Houses in the Reach who wanted war with Dorne. What better way to start war than by having fake Dornishmen kill the Lord of the Reach?

With that, Eisen was given a knighthood for stopping an all-out war. He did not take lands, but instead roamed the land as a mercenary knight. He and his family would from then on buy land and sell it on a whim. Alys's father had himself been born in Redfort and had since moved to Seagard, Casterly Rock, and, now, just south of Harrenhal.

"How has the Mourning Mercenary been of late?" Baelish asked. She did not like it when people called her father by that name. Sansa and Jeyne looked at Alys with curious looks. Baelish sat down beside the Poole girl, far from Alys. "Let me tell you the story of the Mourning Mercenary. Years ago, before the Usurper's War, Ser Geralt Inverne fell in love with a woman. The lady was fair Rowena Clegane, the sister to the Hound and the Mountain. There was a festival being held at Casterly Rock, held to flaunt the wealth of the Lannisters. Inverne saw Clegane and instantly, he was smitten. He had just been knighted and she was one of Lady Cersei Lannister's closest companions. Within months, they found themselves married and living the most enjoyable life. When Prince Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Lyanna Stark and ignited Robert's wrath, Geralt rode to war. He was one of the few who journeyed to the Tower of Joy to save the woman Robert and Rhaegar loved so very much. Upon his return, he learned his own love had given him a beautiful daughter." His eyes flickered to Alys.

"They moved to an estate just south of Harrenhal. The manor had a garden filled with beautiful flowers and fruit trees. They say that the God's Eye shimmers like a great emerald there. They lived an impeccably charmed life. Charmed until the gods put an end to it."

"Six years ago, Ser Geralt and Lady Rowena were riding from a feast at Lannisport. They were headed towards King's Landing with the rest of the party on the Gold Road, and then would head back up towards Harrenhal, where Lady Whent was watching over young Alys. They encamped along the Blackwater Rush for the night. Geralt and Rowena were riding through the woods, laughing and racing. She had left him in the dust and galloped off into the brush. Soon, Geralt heard a scream. His wife was great with child, so he thought it had kicked her too hard. But no, the scream was too horrible to be from the babe. He followed the sound, but he could not find her. He searched, but she could not be found. Geralt rode back to the camp and urged for as many people as possible to aid him. The Hound, Lord Renly, and even King Robert were among those who took up the search. Still they could not find her. Geralt tried to stay optimistic, hoping she would meet him at home."

"When he returned to Harrenhal, a two ravens were waiting for him with two baskets," Alys shut her eyes. He wanted him to stop, but could not bring herself to move or say anything. "He turned his head and saw Lady Shella Whent and her knights. Their eyes were filled with tears. When little Alys came running to greet her father, she was sent back to her chamber. Ser Geralt steeled himself, but it was not enough. For inside the first basket was the head of Lady Rowena. Her face was frozen in a look of horror. Whoever had done this had had his way with her, for his seed had stained her still pink lips. Her baby had been cut from her belly and crushed. Its shattered body sat in the second basket. At first, Ser Geralt was silent. But as the seconds passed by, the fear, grief, and shock he had been holding back for several days wracked his body. His screams and cries echoed throughout the castle. It took four knights to bring him away from his family." Sansa put a hand on Alys's shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Jeyne looked as though she was going to puke.

"It's said he and his daughter had to be escorted home by twelve knights. Ser Geralt was mad with grief and had to be locked in a wheelhouse. The whole time, he was screaming and pounding his fists. His daughter's eyes were full of tears. Even at his manor, he raged and mourned for months. On a stormy night, a man brought a casket claiming to contain the remainder of Lady Rowena's body. The knight sewed the head back onto the body and gave mother and child a proper funeral, burning their bodies in the garden. That was when he finally stopped raging. However, he still cried ceaselessly. It took longer for the tears to dry up. As one can imagine, he had become a much more somber and cautious man."

"Why Lady Rowena died, nobody knows. Many believe that the Mountain killed her. They say that at the feast, he had insulted him, wounded his pride. He killed her out of revenge. Those who were encamped at the Rush claim to have seen him leave his tent covered in blood from a 'hunting' trip. Still, nobody can say for sure."

Alys looked up at Lord Baelish. He leaned over the other two girls and gave her a light touch on the hand. He then turned to Sansa and Jeyne. "Now you know why Ser Geralt Inverne is called the Mercenary Mourner. And that it's true what they say of Harrenhal: it is home to ghosts."


	5. A Distant Memory: Geralt

He stood in the audience chamber, sweat dripping off his forehead. The room was stifling. The black surcoat was stained underneath his armpits. King's Landing always seemed to be hotter than hell.

The only other man in the room was Jory Cassel. He remembered the young man well. When he had last seen him, they had put down the Greyjoy Rebellion on Pyke. Now, he had been made captain of the Hand's guard.

Geralt was about to make conversation with the young fighter when the direwolf banner caught his attention. The snarling grey beast was a terrifying sight. He remembered how it flapped in the wind in the Prince's Pass.

_He remembered the tall Red Mountains looming over him as he and seven others rode through the passes. The sun was setting in the west, making the sky a swirl of purple, red, and gold. Eddard Stark led them. On his sides were Howland Reed and Martyn Cassel, who held the standards of Stark and Baratheon respectively. Those behind them were William Dustin, Theo Wull, Mark Ryswell, and Ethan Glover. Ser Geralt Inverne took the rear. All wore the heavy armor. Luckily for them, the Dornish country was cooling._

_ He did not know how long they had ridden that day when they caught sight of the tower. The Tower of Joy stood on the edge of a great cliff. All of the windows were shuttered, except for the very top; the flicker of torches could be seen. But what concerned them was at the base of the tower. Three men in glittering white armor were waiting with swords drawn._

_ The company of eight dismounted. They stood parallel to the three. Geralt studied them all. In the center was the largest of them. His hair was long and grey. He recognized him for Lord Commander Gerold Hightower. To his sides were Ser Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent, easily identified by Dayne's sword Dawn and Whent's bat-shaped helm. _

_ For what felt like an eternity, words were spoken, but he could not remember them. The battle had started off so sudden. Dayne had cut Cassel's throat in one sure slash. Dustin had parried Whent's blow before he was kicked to the ground and finished off. Dayne pressed on against Ned and Reed, Hightower against Glover and Wull, and Whent against Ryswell and Inverne. _

_He remembered how fiercely they fought. Steel rang throughout the pass. He did not know how many times his sword had clashed with Whent's. Geralt could tell Ryswell was tiring; his parries and slashes were growing slower. Whent saw this and took the opportunity to shove Geralt aside and slam Ryswell with his pommel. As he fell to the ground, Geralt could see blood spurt out of the broken nose. Before the northman hit the rocks, the Bat Knight's sword plunged itself into Ryswell's heart._

_Whent drew the sword out of the body swiftly to slash down on Inverne. The knight in the black surcoat rose to one knee and just barely blocked the strike. He mustered his strength to push the blade back as he got to his feet. Once again, time sped past him. He did not know if it was four slashes or four hundred slashes later his blade sunk itself into the Bat Knight's shoulder and almost tore his sword arm off. Blood poured out and stained the sand. Oswell sank to his knees, his mouth foaming. Geralt kicked him over in the heat of the moment. _

_He heard a roar and saw Lord Commander Hightower charging for him; he had ended Glover and Wull brutally, removing the latter's head. The White Bull lunged at him with his broadsword. Inverne raised his sword at the perfect moment: Hightower's blade slid through the hole in the fuller. He tried to slide away, but Geralt followed him. Hightower cursed as he tried to free his sword, his face turning red as a beet._

_Geralt jerked the pommel of his own blade upward, slamming it into the White Bulls jugular. His grip on the sword was not relinquished, but for a moment he was stunned; that was all Geralt needed. In a flash, his hands were on both of his own cross-guards. With all of his might, he twisted the sword. Immediately, Hightower's sword shattered; the White Bull was left with two inches of shattered steel. The knight's bared his teeth when he came out of his bewilderment. He lunged with his stunted sword, but Ser Inverne was too quick. He swatted Hightower's weapon aside and plunged his own into the White Bull's throat. _

_ Drawing the sword out of the corpse, he fell to one knee. He was exhausted. His eyes faced the ground as he panted heavily. Blood dripped off of his forehead; somehow he had gotten nicked during the fighting. He was unsure if it was from parrying against Oswell or during his scuffle with Gerold. Sweat, blood, and dirt caked his surcoat. _

_ He looked up to see Ned rushing into the Tower. He opened the door…_

"Geralt!"

Geralt's memory dissipated when he felt the large hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Lord Eddard standing behind him with a smile. Quickly he bent the knee. "My Lord, Stark."

Ned laughed. "No need to bow before me, old friend," he pulled Inverne up. "I had not expected you to come. News of your arrival was only given to me when Sansa told me of your daughter… and the story she had been told by Lord Baelish."

Geralt felt a shiver run down his spine. He did not like the fact that his grief had become one of Westeros's biggest mysteries. For the last six years, it had been whispered amongst the smallfolk and lords alike. Each man told it differently.

He forced himself not to dwell on the thought. "I am grieved to have missed this day's events. Why aren't you at your tourney?"

"Naming it after me doesn't make it mine. What brings you to King's Landing?"

"Originally, it was meant to give Alys something to do. However, I find that my own agenda has popped up. I have come to make an appeal to the King."

Ned sat in his chair, resting his elbow on the arm and his chin in his hand. "Is it about Rowena?"

The Mercenary Mourner's let out a deep sigh. His felt his right eye starting to water, but he choked it back. "No. I wish to ask Robert to put an end to Ser Jorah Mormont's exile."

Lord Stark's face darkened. "I cannot allow you to do that. The King will not agree to it."

"What harm will it do? Jorah is a fine warrior and would do us better standing by our side than wasting away across the sea. He's an honorable man."

"What honor can a slaver have?"

"They were poachers on his land. He was protecting his people."

"He was breaking the law for the sake of profit."

"For the sake of his smallfolk!"

"Enough!" Eddard's fist slammed into the arm of his seat. "I act with the King's own voice. Ser Inverne, I deny your request," Geralt bit his lip and nodded politely. He made his way toward the door when Eddard asked, "Would you really welcome a man who is an oathbreaker as well as a lawbreaker back into the Seven Kingdoms?"

Jory opened the door for him. "No, I would welcome a friend." The door closed behind him.


	6. A Blur: The Hound

It would not be long before Sandor Clegane was drunk.

The feast was loud and raucous. King Robert was already challenging the Red Priest to a drinking match. Hundreds of people were shouting vulgar jokes and just as many were laughing at them. Evidently, the first day of the tourney was a success.

Sandor pressed the bronze goblet to his lips and sipped his wine. The Dornish red swirled in his mouth; his mind swirled too. The spices tickled his tongue. A hot wine on a hot night always suited him just fine.

A few goblets later, he saw Sansa Stark. He studied her. He could not understand why the Lannisters were so intent on marrying her off to Joffrey. She was such a dull girl, always doing as she was told like a good little bird. However, she did have a certain grace about her. That much intrigued him.

But for once, it was her companion that caught his attention. Her long brown hair fell down past her shoulders. She wore a green silken dress. He couldn't see her face, but there was something familiar about her.

The Hound shuffled through a party of Freys. He needed a better look at this girl. The sound of Robert's booming laugh made her turn her head towards him. Her large eyes were a deep chestnut. She smiled as if there was no tomorrow. It made his mouth twitch. It was unsettling how much she looked like Rowena.

He was about to put his hand on her shoulder when a dark shape came between them. The man wore a black doublet with twelve stars. Ser Geralt Inverne was whispering something to his daughter. She seemed to take it unfavorably. A younger blonde man came and gently took her hand. After much fussing, the girl relented and they went off.

Inverne turned towards Clegane. "What do you want, Hound?"

The Hound smirked. "I only meant to greet my niece. It's been far too long since I last saw her." His eyes watched Alys through the corner of his eye. She took her time walking, talking excitedly to the Stark girl. Her bodyguard tried to hurry her along with little success.

"I remember. She only had three years on her and when she saw you she screamed her bloody head off. She hid under Rowena's skirts until you left our manor."

Clegane howled with laughter. "That damned girl still doesn't look at me. You don't care to look at me, either."

Inverne was staring off behind the Hound. Sandor craned his head and saw his attention was focused on the King and Queen. They, too, were looking in their direction. Cersei whispered something in Robert's ear. Though they couldn't hear him, Sandor and Geralt could tell his words were unkind. The two of them continued bickering until Robert returned to his cups.

Clegane turned and grinned at Inverne. "It would appear the Queen has an interest in you."

"Cersei has never liked me."

"You stole her closest companion."

Anger flared in Inverne's eyes. "We both lost a friend. It just… happens that my… friend was also my… my w-wife," he stuttered.

Clegane grinned as he raised his goblet to his lips.

The next few hours were a black blur. He could here voices but couldn't make out the words; Geralt, Joffrey, Robert, Cersei, and so many others. When he came to, he found himself with the Stark girl. He couldn't tell what street they were on, but clearly they were heading back to the Hand's Tower. Judging by her expression, he had made some threat in his drunken state.

They continued on their way when screams pierced the silence of the night.

Sansa's eyes widened as she let out a cry. The Hound placed a rough hand over her mouth. "Quiet, girl. Do you want to be next?'

Sandor drew his sword and followed the sound. On another street, he could see four men standing around a girl. On the ground beside them was a young man in a pool of blood. He writhed in pain while one of the men kicked him in the stomach. The girl begged him to stop. Sandor recognized who she was.

It was Rowena. _No, Rowena's dead. It's Alys_.

A bag was placed around the girls head. Sandor charged, sword in hand. The man who had been kicking drew a small hatchet and ran to face him. Two of the other men disappeared with the girl; the other remained holding something round in his hand. The man with the hatchet swung for Sandor's throat. He backed off just in time. The swings were quick, but they were predictable; the man was clearly trying to strike him on the torso or above. Sandor spun and brought his blade into the man's stomach. The slash sent entrails pouring out as he fell to the ground.

The Hound fixed his gaze onto the other man. He wore a black robe, whereas the man he had just sent to Hell wore regular peasant clothing. As Sandor closed in on him, he threw the object in his hand. It was a ceramic pot; when it hit the ground, a great wall of green fire rose before him. Sandor cursed as he stopped in his tracks. He flinched away. The heat was unbearable.

When he turned, the man was gone.

Sandor stomped to the bleeding man. Blood poured out of seven wounds made by the hatchet. It was clear he was going to die. Sandor clutched the young man by the chin and turned him towards him.

"Tell me what happened."

The man coughed up blood. "They… they took her… They took her."

"I know that, boy. Do you know where they're going?"

"Something… Something about going north. I don't… know how far north. Save her." Sandor pulled out a dagger. The boy's eyes closed. "Thank you…"


	7. Raw Emotion: Geralt

The last four days were hell. Hell to both Mercenary Mourner and those he was forced to deal with.

As the feast was ending, the Hound appeared before everyone covered in blood. He told them all that Alys had been kidnapped and young Patrek was killed. All eyes had gone to Geralt then. He stood motionless. Sandor approached put his hand on the knight's shoulder.

"She's gone."

All the emotion he had been trying to hold back breached; tears poured out of his eyes as he fell to the ground, screaming his grief. Everything from a curse to a prayer passed his lips. Jory Cassel came to his side to comfort him, but to no avail. The King's brother spoke to Commander Slynt to send men out for a search.

It was only a couple minutes before he stood back up; it felt like an hour. He looked to Sandor and asked where the men had gone. The Hound didn't know. Geralt's eyes continued to water. Jory and Renly escorted him to a bench to calm to allow him to calm down.

"Bring the man a drink, damn you!" King Robert bellowed. "The man's just lost his daughter!"

For several minutes the drinks came and Geralt downed all of them. Robert urged him to keep it up, while several others wanted him to slow down. Geralt felt the sadness stifling. His eyes started to blur. Jory rubbed his back while Renly held his hand.

A watchman of the city guard ran up to them. "A witness says he saw a wagon carrying three four people, one with a bag over their head. They left through the Dragon Gate not thirty minutes ago. We've sent men after them."

Geralt rose to his feet, knocking a goblet of wine to the floor. "Then I'm going, too!" He stumbled forward, shoving past everyone in his way. He had to catch the Red Priest Thoros's arm to prevent himself from falling.

"Ser Inverne, stop," Jory called. "You can't go like this."

The knight halted and turned towards them. The grief and fear his countenance had been painted over with rage and cruelty. "Don't you dare tell a father he can't save his daughter!" he screamed as he drew his sword. He turned and marched away clumsily. "I will cut their bloody hearts out! Those cowards! Those fucking bastards!" His face was Lannister crimson, his voice that of a raven's.

Several knights now ran ahead of him to bar his path. He stumbled to a stop to regard them: Ser Aron Santagar, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Andar Royce, and Ser Barristan Selmy formed a wall of men. The Hound stood behind him, sword in hand.

"Leave her be, brother," he rasped.

Without warning, Geralt threw his sword. It missed by a long shot. He bulled into the Hound, knocking him to the ground. His fists slammed into the taller man's face. His curses were near impossible to make out. The knights were drawing their blades when Ser Selmy stopped them. Instead, they dragged Inverne off of the Hound.

His raging continued while they carried him back to his quarters. The citizens of King's Landing looked out their windows. A drunken oaf coming out of a tavern shouted that the knight sounded like a dying cat. When they dragged him up the stairs and into his room, Feris crawled to the far corner of the room whimpering. After he was thrown onto the bed, the door was locked behind and a knight stood outside his door.

Geralt screamed until he cried; Geralt cried himself to sleep.

He woke the next day at half past noon. His head was throbbing. Geralt rolled over. Feris sat at the edge of the bed and licked his hair. The knight stumbled out of bed to look in a mirror. His face was filthy and bruised. The tears had stained his cheeks, cutting through the dust. His hair was messy.

He didn't see a knight in the mirror. He saw a broken man. He had hope last night was but a nightmare. Geralt looked to the other bed; empty.

There was a knock on the door. Without hesitation, Ser Swann entered with two servant girls. The girls placed a capon, a loaf of bread, a goblet of wine, and a goblet of water on the table and left. Ser Swann stood and beckoned Geralt to eat. He hesitated at first, but slowly sat down and ate a few bites. Feris sniffed the newcomer.

"Where is she?"

Swann scratched the pet's head. "The Gold Cloaks found the wagon that carried Alys off. It was a few miles from Stokeworth. The horses had been slaughtered and none of the smallfolk had seen what had happened. They searched the area thoroughly, but found nothing."

A single tear fell out of Inverne's eye.

"I'm sorry, Ser. These serving girls will tend to your every need. We were ordered to lock you in your room until further notice. Good day, Ser." With that he left the room in a flash. Geralt bolted for the door, but it slammed and he heard it lock. He leaned against the door and slumped to the ground.

The room was his prison. The day was spent worrying and thinking of every possible location she could be. He'd pray to the Seven, ask his serving girls the latest news (nothing), and request food for himself and Feris, as well as large amounts of wine. This pattern kept up for that afternoon and the next two days; the only change was that the wine came in larger amounts.

By the fourth morning, Geralt was leaning out of a window, puking into the street. A serving maid came in and carried him to bed. He tried to swat her away, but it was useless. She took him out of his dirty clothing and three other maids came in to give him a bath. They escorted him to his bathroom and filled the basin with hot water. He got in and they scrubbed him. By the time the bath was done, the wine had worn off. The women were going to help him dress, but he shooed them away; he was now able to dress himself. Instead, he simply wrapped a towel around his waist and stumbled to his bed to sleep off the headache.

He woke to the sound of knocking on the door. Geralt did not move. He kept his eyes shut, desperately hoping they would stop.

"Go away!"

"You have a visitor, Ser," a maid said, her voice muffled.

"I don't want to see them!" he shouted, his voice still hoarse. _I don't want to see anybody. I just want to see my sweet baby_.

The door opened and whoever his guest was came in. He heard a goblet clink as it was placed somewhere else on the table. Something heavy was put there in its stead. The bed dipped as his visitor sat beside him. They took his head into their lap. A hand gently stroked Geralt's back. His hair was being curled around a finger.

_It must be Alys_, he thought. _She's back. They found her_. Another thought crossed his mind; it was impossible, but maybe the Gods had worked a miracle. He couldn't help but smile. _Gods, be good._

His hand clutched a woman's dress. He pulled it to his face and inhaled; it smelled of apple blossoms. _Just how she used to smell._ He rolled over and whispered, "Rowena". Geralt opened his eyes.

He was laying in the lap of Cersei Lannister.

His smile evaporated and his eyes widened. Geralt struggled to get up.

"Shhh… peace, Ser Inverne," the Queen whispered. He felt uncomfortable, but he stayed in place as she requested. "I have three things for you. I came to tell you that I am deeply troubled by your loss. I'd be just as pained as you if someone had stolen Joffrey or Tommen or Myrcella from me."

"First my wife, then Jorah, now this? The Gods toy with me."

Cersei's hand massaged Geralt's shoulder. "They toy with everyone, Ser. You have my deepest condolences, nonetheless. Next, I want you to know that you are welcome to come to the Red Keep anytime you wish. Robert has his doors and arms open to you. He assures you that all is being done to save your girl Alys."

Geralt sat up. He felt his head throb when he moved. He grabbed his forehead and groaned. Cersei rubbed his back. "Why are you here? You could have sent someone else to tell me all of this."

Cersei stood and walked to the window. She closed the curtains. "Let me tell you a little secret. Your wife and I grew up together at Casterly Rock. We were nearly inseparable. As a result, we'd tell secrets to one another. I remember one day, we talked about the men we had wanted to marry. Rowena and I were very similar: we both were in love with Rhaegar Targaryen and a new knight who had come to swear loyalty to my father. Rowena also had feelings for my brother, Jaime. He never loved her back, sadly. I would have loved to have her as my sister."

The knight was confused. He stood up and walked to the table. His sword had been put there. Geralt quickly picked up a goblet, sipped, and put it down.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Cersei turned to him. "Because that knight we both wanted was you." She approached him, putting her arms around him and pulling him close. Her breasts squished against his chest. Geralt realized just how naked he was and blushed. "When you two were married, I was jealous. You were one of the most handsome men I had seen. But those feelings died over the years. When Rowena was murdered, I felt like my chest was being torn apart. Seeing you in so much pain made it worse. I felt it was my obligation to give you comfort; now, I think that can be best achieved by giving you pleasure."

Geralt's eyes widened. "No, milady. I cannot allow you. You're the Queen. It would be treason."

She pushed him down onto the bed. Straddling him, she kissed his neck. Geralt did nothing. Against his will, he felt himself taking pleasure in this. No, he told himself. This is wrong.

Cersei took his face in her hands. "Geralt, be strong. Let yourself be happy. This fearful man is not the knight your wife and I fell in love with." Her green eyes pierced his. Her golden hair was strewn about her shoulders. Geralt could see the tops of her breasts heave from her dress. Cersei licked her lips. "If things had gone differently all those years ago, this is what Rowena would have wanted." She kissed him.

Ser Geralt Inverne kissed Queen Cersei back.


	8. Screams in the Night: Alys

"We'll stop here for the night," Ser Spence bellowed.

Rough hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off of the horse. Alys squeaked as she was plopped into a puddle of cold water. The bag was untied and pulled off of her head.

Everything was blurry, but her eyes adjusted. She could see the sky turning a mixture of purple and orange as the sun descended. The woods around her were dark. She could now hear the sound of running water more clearly than before. Everyday for the last few weeks, she was given only three hours to see the world, only three hours to breathe clean air instead of her own breath over and over again.

And during those three hours, she had her seven captors as company.

A small fire had been made and all eight of them encircled it. The hunter of the group, Pyke, had killed a doe and was roasting it over the fire. The scent of burning meat filled her nostrils.

She looked around the circle; from her left to her right, Faxon, Reis, Thoath, Spence, Wulfrun, The Nightcat, and Pyke all went about their business.

Ser Joben Faxon was fixated on the meat. His fat red face puffed as he took his off his sword. He sat plopped himself down and used his shield as a footrest. It was yellow and bore the red severed head of a dragon. Faxon was a bald man and angry man with black beady eyes. He'd usually drink from his wineskin during marches and he'd get on Alys's nerves when he'd rant about how he had killed hundreds of Targaryen soldiers during the Rebellion but never got the recognition he deserved.

Reis was a much younger man and not hard to look upon. He had light brown hair and brown eyes. He whispered something in Thoath's ear and burst out laughing while the other man just scowled into the fire. He looked more a boy than a man, having but a few wisps of hair on his upper lip. He couldn't have been much older than Alys.

The man in the black robes frightened Alys. Serro Thoath came from across the Narrow Sea; where exactly, she could not tell. She had never seen his face; all she could see was a dark black beard poking out of his hood. When he spoke, his voice was deep and dripping with venom. Thankfully, he spoke very rarely.

The leader of the group was Ser Deved Spence. Tall, brawny, and ugly, the man sat across the fire from Alys reading a book. Every now and then, he'd peer over the pages to spy on his companions. His blonde hair was cropped close and his face clean shave. His eyes were a pale green. His visage reminded her of a Lannister, but the sigil on his shield told another story; it was a black flower in a brown field.

Wulfrun got up from his seat and proceeded to circle the group as he usually did. Alys hated Ser Alec Wulfrun the most. Unfortunately for her, he was also the one she rode with. He took great delight in tormenting her. His most common taunt was that he would bring his face close to her so that she could even feel his hot breath through the burlap sack. Then, he'd whisper, "I am the Wolf; you are the Lamb, little one." It was appropriate; everything about him was wolfish: his messy long black hair, dark green eyes, scruffy beard, the way he paced around her like a predator, even his shield bore a black wolf with yellow eyes on a green field. As he passed by her, his finger brushed the back of her neck. Alys shuddered.

Of all of her captors, Alys liked the Nightcat the most. He was a small man, a few inches shorter than Alys and very thin. He kept his face covered in bandages and never spoke. Wulfrun told her that he had been brutally savaged and has his tongue ripped out when he had spoken up to a much bigger man at Last Hearth. Since then, he had taken to stealth. His blue eyes and short blonde hair remained visible, but Alys could not see any hint of a scar in the exposed skin. Though silent, he would sometimes give her an extra scrap of food.

"Deer's done," Pyke croaked when he drew his dagger. His voice was like gravel. He carved the animal and distributed out portions to everyone. Kyrin Pyke gave Alys chills. He was tall and lanky and wore wrinkled leathers. He was a good ten years younger than her father, but his hair looked like salt and pepper. He pulled his long hair into a ponytail and had the shadow of a beard on his jaw. An eye patch covered his right eye, but he was still a very keen archer. His remaining eye was a pale blue. His stare was as cold as ice. Pyke untied her bonds and allowed her to eat. The meat was fresh and hot, but bland tasting.

Alys swallowed and looked up to the Ironborn. "Where are we?"

"West of Harvest Hall, right?" he asked Reis, chewing.

The younger man stood up and clapped his hands. "That we are. Lord Selmy won't pay us no mind."

She had no idea where they were heading. Pyke, Thoath, and Faxon had taken her from King's Landing and headed north in a wagon. When they met up with the others, they had killed the horses and flipped the wagon over. The Nightcat had stolen fresh horses and rode off. They had travelled exclusively off of the roads. The only time they were on the road was to get to the other side. It had made for a bumpy road.

When supper was finished, Alys rested her head against a log. It was uncomfortable, but she had gotten used to discomfort; not just from the journey, but also from her own adventures back home. She thought of her father's manor. She could see herself climbing the trees in the orchard to claim the highest apple or orange or lemon. She swam in the God's Eye and caught fish. More often than not, she had come home with a tear in her dress or missing a shoe. In her dreaming, Alys fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, she was awoken by a horrible shaking. Alys opened her eyes, but all was darkness; the burlap sack had been put back on while she slept. She let out a scream as someone dragged her by her waist over the log and through a puddle of mud. She tried to scream again, but a large hand covered her mouth.<p>

After they had gone a few meters, he started to tear her dress off. Alys felt the cold night air on her chest as her breasts were exposed. She tried to fight, but her hands were bound together. She desperately swung her arms as she heard the clink of a belt being undone hastily. She swung again and again. No hits. But on the next, she made contact with the would-be raper's manhood. He groaned loudly and released her. She could only bunny-hop away and scream.

She could hear three men running to her assailant. A set of arms wrapped around her gently, yet securely. Alys heard whoever had tried to carry her being pushed to the ground.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing?" Pyke roared.

"I want her her! She's mine!" Faxon cried. "I made the call before we caught her!"

"Damn you, Faxon!" Wulfrun snarled. "Our orders were to keep the girl unsullied in any way. If you want to put your cock in something, go fuck one of the horses." He kicked Faxon, causing the large man to grunt.

The others were being roused. "What's going on here?" Ser Spence shouted.

"The Dragon Slayer tried to take my little Lamb's maidenhead."

"Is that so? Well, it appears that the Dragon Slayer has been drinking too much wine. Ser Faxon needs to get these selfish thought out of his head and remember what his job is. He needs to be put back in his place," Alys could hear his footsteps on the leaves around her. "Thoath, Wulfrun, you know what to do."

She heard Faxon try to struggle as he was being dragged back to the encampment. She felt the soft warm touch of the Nightcat on her shoulders as he wrapped her in a blanket. She yipped as the rough hands of Pyke scooped her up and carried her off to where she had been laying. Faxon was cursing.

"I want the girl to watch," Spence said. The sack was untied and lifted. A tiny fire was burning under a bronze kettle. Thoath was searching through a box with several compartments; he pinched various herbs and powders out and gently put them in the kettle. He then poured water in and stirred. A terrible hissing sound pierced the night. Fumes of smoke filled the air. It smelled horrible.

Alys turned to Ser Faxon. His hands and legs were bound as she was. Wulfrun had half of his face clutched in his hand, in the other hand a large knife. Fear filled the fat man's eyes, while the Wolf's teeth were bared in a cruel grin.

"Give the knife to me," Thoath commanded Wulfrun, his deep voice rich with an accent Alys had never heard. The knight did as he was told. Thoath took the knife and examined it. It was an ugly thing that looked more like a small falchion. The hooded man took the ladle from the kettle and carefully coated the curve of the blade with liquid. It was thick and black. He handed the blade back to Wulfrun.

Ser Faxon screamed. "No! Ser Spence! Deved! You can't do this! I've learned my lesson! I'll… I'll never drink again! I'll not touch the girl!"

Ser Spence stood behind Alys. She felt so small under him. His large hands took her head gently in his hands, forcing her to watch whatever was to happen.

"Do it, Wulfrun."

The Wolf smiled. His dark green eyes looked at the girl.

"As you wish," he said.

The tip of the blade touched Faxon just before the eye. He bit his lip, holding in his urge to scream. Wulfrun then pressed the dagger down so that the length of the blade went down his cheek. Faxon screamed horribly. When the blade was lifted, a long red line marked his face. The cut was not deep, but Faxon cried as if he had been run through by a boar-spear. The Wolf took the blade to Faxon's forehead and nose. The red lines seeped blood. Alys's eyes grew wider when she saw the lines change from red to black. Dark vines grew from the cuts. Whatever had been put on the blade caused his veins to break and turn a deep purple and black. Faxon's face turned beet red as he shrilled.

Though the cuts had been done, his screams lasted the night. Alys would never forget this.


	9. Into the Lion's Mouth: Geralt

The clacks of wood on wood echoed in the room. The Braavosi had the upper-hand on against the Stark girl. Arya made a lunge that Syrio dodged deftly. She stumbled as she tried to whip around and slap him with her sword. He dodged again and kicked her legs from underneath her. Ser Inverne laughed.

Arya groaned as she brought herself up. "I'd like to see you try better."

Geralt chuckled. "Believe me, milady, you would surely best me. It's been too many years since I last fought." Syrio tossed him his wooden sword. Geralt caught it and sliced the air. It was lighter than the blade by his side, but it had a nice heft to it nonetheless. He grasped the hilt with both hands.

"Now Arya, we will be seeing how your training works against a knight of Westeros," Syrio said. Arya's grey eyes were fixed on Geralt.

The knight smiled. It was strange that he was testing his skills against an eight year old girl. He also found it humorous he was going to fight someone he was charged to protect.

The past few months had been chaos. Lord Eddard Stark had been injured by Jaime Lannister. Afterwards, the Hand asked Geralt to watch over his daughters. Geralt was eager to do so. He needed something to keep his mind off of his own daughter's capture; duty was the best way to do it. He spent most of his time watching Arya; Sansa was always a sweet child and kept company with Joffrey, while Arya was prone to getting herself into trouble. It frightened him just how much like his daughter she was.

Even worse news had come a few days before: King Robert had been wounded by a wild boar while hunting. It was fatal and everyone expected him to be dead before the day was out. He could have been dead that very moment.

Ser Inverne stood his ground as Arya circled him. Her steps were careful and precise. She was almost behind him when she slashed for his arm. Geralt took a quick step and sliced upwards. She had stopped herself just in time for the cut to miss. She leapt to the side and jabbed repeatedly. He parried each stab. She was better than she looked.

Suddenly the door crashed open. Geralt turned to see what was happening. Ser Meryn Trant entered with five Lannister household guards. Arya took that opportunity to stab Inverne in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of him. He doubled over and began to laugh. _Bested by a child!_

"Arya Stark, come with us," Meryn declared. "Your father wants to see you."

Arya took a step forward, but Syrio held his hand out to stop her. "And why is it that Lord Eddard is sending Lannister men in place of his own. I wonder."

"Learn your place, Dancing Master," Trant sneered.

"He's right," Geralt said. "He would have told me to bring her if he needed her."

"I don't have to go with you if I don't want it," Arya said, mockingly.

Trant looked annoyed. "Take her."

One of the guards approached, but Syrio smacked him in the helmet with his wooded sword. The dazed man attempted to reach for his sword. Syrio smashed his hand. Two more strikes and he was down.

"Run now to your father, Arya," Syrio said.

Ser Inverne took Arya by the hand and tried to lead her away. "Come with us," she begged.

"The First Sword of Braavos does not run. What do we say to the God of Death?"

"Not today."

Geralt opened the other door and they ran. The rings of wood on metal echoed behind them. Ser Inverne could see a tear leak from Arya's eye.

The pair stopped at a corner. Geralt hugged the wall and peeked around the corner. The hallway was very long. Several doors were spaced evenly throughout it. There were two groups of Lannisters; two men by the closest door, while eight men were much further down. Geralt turned back to she looked up to him. He could tell she was trying her best to be brave.

"I'll distract them," he whispered. "Once they're gone, run. Run and don't look back. I'll find you."

Arya wrapped an arm around his waist. "Please don't go."

Geralt sighed. He knelt down and ruffled her hair. "You'll be safe. I promise you. You'll see your father again." He took her hand into his and kissed it. He stood back up and drew his sword. He gave her a quick nod and turned the corner.

He walked briskly towards the first two guards. One of them grabbed the hilt of his sword while the other rested against his spear. "Halt." Geralt continued. "Halt." Geralt got closer. "Listen, damn you, I said—" Geralt forced his blade into the man's throat. The man gurgled as blood spilled from his neck. The spearman hefted his spear. Ser Inverne let go of the blade and grabbed the shaft. He kicked him in the groin, loosening his grip. Inverne spun the spear in his hands and impaled the guard in the gut.

Before the first guard could drop, Geralt pulled his sword free from his throat. The Lannister men further down drew their swords and came running.

"Come try me!" Geralt taunted. He kicked the door open and ran. From room to room, he barreled his way through furniture and anything else in his path. The Lannisters stumbled over his mess. Those who were able to make it close to him were either knocked back or killed. Geralt felt as though he had gone through a thousand rooms. He must have killed at least seven guards. More and more joined the chase.

Heavily armored, the guards were slow. He was thankful he had not decided to don his armor today. The Lannisters were out of sight now, but they would catch up soon. Ser Inverne pushed open a large set of doors. Without hesitation, he slammed them shut behind him. He closed his eyes and shouldered the door catching his breath. He could not remember the last time he had to run like that. _I'm getting too old for this._

"We are so filled with gratitude that you could accompany us, Ser Inverne."

Geralt exhaled sharply and opened his eyes. He turned slowly. He only now noticed that he had entered the Great Hall. A great carpet stretched from where he was all the way to the Iron Throne. Sitting upon it was Cersei Lannister. Off to the sides of the throne were Lord Varys and Peter Baelish. Sandor Clegane, Ser Mandon Moore, and Ser Boros Blount stood in front of them, along with twenty Lannister household guards.

"Ser Geralt Inverne of Harrenhal, you are charged with high treason against the King," Varys said.

Geralt took three steps closer. "Why? You're men attacked me. They should be the ones charged with treason."

"Forgive me, Ser Inverne, but it's not the murder of the guards that troubles King Joffrey," _What? King Joffrey_? "But the fact that you are a Targaryen supporter."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Baelish produced a small purse. He shook it, jingling its contents. "When you arrived in King's Landing, you gave Lord Varys this purse. It contains seventy-six Golden Dragons. And you informed Varys it was to be delivered to Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, a well-known lawbreaker and adviser to Daenerys Targaryen."

Geralt was stunned. He had no idea heard no word from Jorah. There was no way the man would join Robert's enemies.

"You have two choices, Inverne," Cersei began. "You can either surrender yourself or you can try to be heroic and be put down like a mad dog. The choice is yours."

Ser Inverne gripped his sword tightly in his right hand. He walked towards the Throne. The guards all drew their blades. He stopped a few feet of from the wall of men. Geralt knelt and placed his blade on his of the guards surrounded him, taking his blade.

"I'm glad you came to your senses, Ser Inverne," Cersei purred. "It would have been such a shame for you to end up like your wife and daughter."

* * *

><p>The cell was small and dim. A single candle gave him his warmth and light. There was nothing to do except to dwell on his thoughts. Geralt hated it.<p>

_I'm so sorry. Lord Stark, Arya, Sansa, I've failed you. I failed to help you, Jorah. I want you back, old friend. Rowena, my love. Alys, sweetling. I miss you both so much. But I've failed you all._

His tears puddled on the stone floor.

He heard footsteps outside his door. A woman's voice said something. The door opened and Cersei entered. The door was locked behind her and the guards trotted away.

Ser Inverne did his best to pay no heed to her. Even in this light, it was difficult to avoid her beauty. Her eyes and hair seemed to glow. She wore a dress of cloth-of-gold that showed great cleavage. She stood before him with crossed arms.

"What the hell is going on?" Geralt asked.

"My friend, you make poor decisions. You're best friend was a traitor and you were serving a traitor. Lord Stark was conspiring to prevent Joffrey from ascending the throne. There have been slanders that he has no rightful claim to the throne."

"There may be some truth to that, given the last few times we've met." After she had 'comforted' him after the Alys's kidnapping, there had been several other rendezvous, including one in King Robert's own bed.

She slapped him across the face. It stung, but he did not let out a shout. He had felt much worse.

Geralt looked up at her. "What is to become of Stark?"

"Once he confesses his treason, I'll have him sent to the Wall."

"I see," he looked back to the floor and clasped his hands together. "What of me?"

There was a long silence. Cersei sat down beside him. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek. She let out a soft moan, but he took no pleasure.

"I have other plans for you."


	10. Tower of Joy: Alys

Cold winds battered the shutters. They howled like phantom wolves in the night. It was impossible for Alys to even think. She hated her captors for taking her to this forlorn place, her new home. If it wasn't the wind, it was either Faxon or Wulfrun in a drunken revelry, Reis's laughter, or the odd noises that emulated from Thoath's room. Though it was called the Tower of Joy, she felt miserable.

Her companions weren't very happy either.

"Damn this fucking wind!" Wulfrun spat. He rushed to the window and tried to close the shutters. Unsuccessful, he kicked a small table over. Alys flinched as fork nearly hit her. He stomped out of the room and locked the door. She could hear his footsteps descend down the stairs.

She was thankful he was gone. Ser Wulfrun frightened her more of late. His temper shortened the longer he was pent up in the Tower. He grew more violent, even striking her once. The way he looked at her hungrily made her fear the Wolf had an appetite for lamb.

Though he and the other two knights were cruel, she found a surprising amount of courtesy from her other captors. They had agreed to give Alys full reign of the Tower. She could go wherever she liked; the only catch was that she had to be locked in her room when she went to bed. She couldn't leave the Tower of course; the door at the bottom was always locked and the only ones with keys were Ser Spence and Pyke. Thoath had supplied her with a collection of books; most of them were in languages she couldn't read, but she enjoyed the ones she could. Alys particularly liked the fables. Reis, the Nightcat, and Pyke had also been rather friendly to her.

Alys laid herself down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The knights would be leaving tomorrow. All Spence had mentioned was that they were heading up north. She could not wait for them to leave.

That night she dreamed she was sitting underneath an apple tree. _The smell of fruit filled her nostrils. Feris came prancing to her with a leather ball in his mouth. She laughed as she pulled it out of his mouth. Alys scratched his head and threw it; he pounced after it. _

_A warm finger brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She giggled. She turned around and saw her beautiful mother. Mama smiled with soft doe-eyes. Her brown hair radiated in the sunlight. She leaned forward and kissed her forehead._

_There was a splash from the lake nearby. She turned and saw Papa coming out of the water. He wore roughspun undergarments that dripped. He shook out his brown hair, sending droplets flying. Mama hooted and Papa laughed. He ran over and wrapped his arms around the both of them. Feris bounded over to join in; the hyena licked her face._

Alys felt happier than she had ever felt before. But it could never be.

She woke up to the smell of bacon. Her mouth watered. She changed into a silken yellow dress and headed down the stairs.

She followed the smell to the ground floor. Reis was cooking the bacon. Drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. Pyke ate an apple in the corner of the room, while the Nightcat sat by the table, reading a map. Thoath tended to remain a recluse in his own chambers.

Reis turned to her. "Here she is! Bacon for the lady?"

Alys blushed a bit. She was only a knight's daughter; no one had ever called her a lady before. "Yes, please," she said. She sat down on the other side of the table from the Nightcat. She began to look at the map. From a tiny manor just south of Harrenhal to a tower in northern Dorne, she must have travelled over a thousand miles. Very few girls could boast that. She wasn't even eighteen yet. _Or am I?_ The months had passed so quickly that she couldn't count them.

Pyke strode over to the table. "Ugly, Uglier, and the Mad Dog are gone. We can finally live a little."

Reis laughed. "Aye, those bastards always have to make everything dull. Thoath won't act the sitter, will he?"

The Ironborn shook his head. "He's not like to join us, but if we leave him alone, he'll leave us alone."

Reis put the bacon on the table. He shoved a handful into his mouth. "Looks like tonight, we're gonna celebrate." A goofy smile formed on his lips.

* * *

><p>All through the night, they ate, drank, and japed. The moon was high and the winds were blowing, but here the stones of the tower were firm and the fire kept them warm. Reis strummed a lute and sang as Alys danced. Pyke rolled a barrel of ale from the Ser Faxon's room. He and Reis requested that Alys take part in a drinking contest. She was hesitant, but decided she had nothing to lose. Though it sickened her stomach, she enjoyed it. Reis was the first to puke. Alys surrendered to the victorious Pyke. The Nightcat couldn't laugh, but his eyes smiled the whole time.<p>

Reis proposed that they play a question-asking game. They gathered around the table. He popped a handful of pomegranate seeds into his mouth. "Alys," he began, "who do you hate the most in our little band of outlaws?"

She began to laugh. She didn't mean to, the ale and wine were going into her head. "It's a tie between the Wolf and Ser Faxon; Ser Wulfrun scares me to the point where I almost shit myself, but Ser Faxon almost put his dick in me." She also didn't mean to use such lewd language.

"There'll be no use of 'sers' while they're away. It's Uglier and the Mad Dog until they're back," Pyke said. He raised his flagon to his lips. "Ask someone something, girl."

She stretched in her seat as she mulled over her options. _Reis is a loud mouth; I could probably ask him anything anytime. Pyke would be an interesting person to ask, but so would the Nightcat. Hmmm…_ "Nightcat," she began.

"You'll have to ask her a yes-or-no question," Pyke laughed. The Nightcat shot him a deadly glare and he smacked him in the chest. Reis laughed.

"Nightcat," Alys continued, "where did you grow up?" The Nightcat's eyes seemed to grow in size. He got up and cleared some kitchenware and food off of the Northern part of the map. He took a knife from his boot and threw it up in the air. It thudded loudly as it met landed. The spot it marked was Bear Island. "You're from the North?" Alys asked with a smile. The Nightcat nodded.

Pyke clapped the Nightcat on the shoulder. "Your turn, Cat."

He tapped Pyke on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Reis snorted. "Speak up! We can't hear you!" He burst out laughing. Alys chuckled.

Pyke whispered back in his ear. The Nightcat nodded. Pyke turned to Alys. "Are you still a virgin?" His pale eye sent a shiver up her spine.

Alys gulped. She had often snuck out of her father's manor in the middle of the night, but never to do anything like that. There were too few people her age in Harrentown. The most boys she had seen had been the ones in King's Landing. She hadn't had a chance to talk to any of them though. The closest she had been to seeing a naked boy was when the fat Dragon Killer had tried to take her. "Yes."

"I can help you with that if you want," Reis sniggered.

"If she wanted a drunken fool, she'd have let Uglier have her," Pyke spat. The younger man lost his grin.

"How did you lose your eye, Pyke?" Alys asked.

The man took a large gulp of ale. "My father was a hunter who travelled from island to island. He came home when I was seven. My mother thought it'd be a great idea for me to meet him. He screamed at my mum and beat her. He clearly didn't want me. When she tried to fight back, he slit her throat. I found my bow and drew an arrow, but he took the arrow out of my hand. He pinned me to the ground and put out my eye with my own arrow. He left, leaving me to die. A Drowned Man found me and nursed me back to health. Years later, I found him hunting by some cliffs on Blacktyde. I recognized him, but he didn't recognize me. I told him I was hunting. He asked what game. I told him the most dangerous kind. I aimed my bow and watched him try to run like a scared deer. I put an arrow in his neck and watched him fall into the sea. As you can see, you're relationship with your father is much better than mine." Pyke's eye was like a chip of ice, freezing her in its stare. She took a sip of wine to calm her stomach.

* * *

><p>Alys couldn't sleep. She paced her room like a caged lion. She stumbled over books and furniture; it was dark and the wine still made her head swirl.<p>

_What can I do?_

Her foot got caught on the leg of a table. She tripped towards the door. She turned her back to brace herself. Instead of being stopped by the door, she forced it open and crashed onto the floor.

She raised herself up with her elbows. _What's the door doing unlocked?_ Her captors must have forgotten from their overindulgence. She smirked as she took to her feet. _Time to explore_.

She crept down the stairs carefully. Thoath was asleep, judging by the silence in his room; usually, he'd stay up late doing experiments that'd result in mysterious sounds. Reis was sprawled down another stairway. Foam stained his wispy mustache. His shirt was stained. Alys stepped over him carefully as she descended.

As she snuck down, she heard noises. Grunts, groans, moans, laughs. Alys hugged the wall as she went down the hallway. Light shined through the crack of an open door. The noises grew louder. She was scared to look, but her curiosity burned inside her. Alys snuck a peek.

It was more than she needed. Clothing was strewn throughout the room. The bed was shaking. Pyke was naked. His unkempt hair skewed the right side of his face. His muscles rippled as he took someone from behind. The girl was a petite thing with short blonde hair. Her breasts were small and pointed. She moaned as Pyke thrust into her. She was screaming his name.

"Kyrin! Kyrin!"

Alys pulled herself away and ran up the stairs. She almost tripped on Reis, but just managed to leap over him just in time. She charged into her room and slammed the door. Alys crawled into bed and rolled under the covers. She wasn't sure what to think about what she had seen.

She fell asleep to the sounds of the woman shouting "Kyrin" over and over again. At least that was better than Ser Uglier's screams.


	11. Loss: Geralt

Ser Geralt Inverne was now a member of the Kingsguard. It was never his choice. While all the other knights looked radiant and proud in their white-enameled armor, Inverne looked like it had been burdened onto him like packs on a mule.

He was a prisoner. This was his punishment.

Everyone knew it.

Only death could release him.

He stood in his gleaming armor, watching over Lady Sansa Stark. Joffrey had gone off to practice swordplay and wanted his princess watched over. Sansa sat out in the gardens, staring blankly at the flowers.

_Poor child_.

He could see tears welling in her eyes. The death of Lord Eddard had come as such a shock to both her and Inverne alike. It had been a couple months, but she was still mourning, just as he was on the inside.

Inverne strode to her side. He placed a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "Cheer up, Lady Sansa. It wounds me grievously to see you so dour."

The girl looked up at him. A single tear fell down her cheek.

"I thank you for your kindness, Ser. You have suffered just as much as I."

He stepped away from her. Momentarily, he forgot to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Ser Knight. I did not mean to—."

He took a deep breath and turned to her. "It makes no difference. I think of her day and night, ceaselessly. You remind me of her. For all I know, you two may be in the same situation."

"What do you mean?"

Before he could retort, footsteps were heard behind him. Geralt turned to see two figures— one tall, one small—appear into the garden.

"Ah, infamous Mercenary Mourner," Tyrion Lannister chimed. "My sister told me that you had been made a man of the Kingsguard, but never did I think it to be true until now."

Geralt looked at the Imp then turned to his companion. He appeared to be a sellsword. _I don't like the looks of him_. "I did not know you had arrived in King's Landing. It is an honor to see you again, Master Tyrion."

"How is it she enticed you into the Guard? Was it her mouth, her tits, or her cunt?"

Sansa snapped her head towards the conversation, her eyes wide. Geralt's face flushed as he herded Tyrion behind a bush to continue the conversation. Tyrion's guard stood close to the girl.

"What the bloody hell are you getting at?!" Geralt snapped.

"So it's true."

The knight hung his head bashfully. "There's no point arguing with you. Why have you come to me?"

"Initially, Cersei sent me to fetch you. Your presence is needed. She mentioned something about news of a lost child. I figured it would make for the perfect opportunity to bugger my sister's former beau," Tyrion grinned.

"I never touched, Cersei," he growled. He was tempted to kick the dwarf in the face, but resisted and regained his composure. "Who has news of my Ays?"

"Well, I don't know. That's what you're supposed to find out."

His footsteps echoed in the Great Hall. Cersei was sitting on a small chair situated next to the Iron Throne. Three men stood before her.

"Ah, Ser Inverne. I was hoping you would arrive quicker than that," Cersei said.

The knight did not answer until he was beside the three men. They appeared to be knights. "You have news of Alys?"

"Troubling news," one of the men said. He was a big and bulky man, with cropped blond hair. He wore a brown tunic with a black flower on his breast.

Geralt held his breath. The man furthest left came forward. He was a fat man in a yellow tunic with a red dragon's head. He placed a muddy bundle on the floor before the steps to the throne. He unwrapped it to reveal a blue silken dress. It was torn to shreds.

_Oh no…_

The man got up and turned to go back to his place. Geralt let out his air when he saw his horribly disfigured face. Three long black scars marred his nose, forehead, and cheek. The entire left side of his face was a dark purple, with tiny black lines snaking through it like vines. Geralt realized that these were his veins.

"My most sincere apologies, Ser Inverne. I truly am sorry," Cersei croaked, a tear rolling down her cheek.

He didn't know what to do or say. He didn't.

He just stood there, staring at the dress.

"Gentlemen, I thank you for bringing in evidence of poor Alys's demise. And I believe it is long overdue since you men have been rewarded for your efforts over the years. To you all, estates," Cersei purred. "What is the name of your manor, Ser Inverne?"

The Mercenary Mourner looked up. He hadn't seen his home in so long, he had nearly forgotten about it. "The Dream Orchard."

Cersei continued immediately. "Ser Spence, you shall be given an estate due south of Sarsfield. Ser Faxon will be given an estate east of Kayce. And Ser Wulfrun, you shall be granted Ser Inverne's former home of the Dream Orchard, just south of Harrenhal."

Inverne could not believe what he was hearing. He clenched his fist and tried to keep his composure.

Cersei turned to him. "You won't need it anymore, Ser Inverne of the Kingsguard." She smirked. Inverne's face turned as red as a beet. "You may go now."

Everything around him went black. Not from loss of consciousness, but from pure pain; his whole world had been shattered. He walked for what felt like hours in this haze. Eventually, he came to and found himself stumbling in some hallway. When his vision became clear, he drew his blade and threw it on the floor. It skidded across the floor. A horrible shriek tore its way through his throat as he crumpled over, his fists beating the floor savagely. His mouth let curses loose in between the screams. He did not care if the entire of King's Landing heard him; he did not care anymore. Tears formed a small puddle below him.

Suddenly, he heard a large thump. To the right of his hand was a fat wineskin. "Drink up," a voice beckoned. "You deserve it. No hard feelings."

Inverne looked up. The knight wearing a dark green tunic he had seen in the Great Hall stood before him. His face was smug and Inverne had a strong desire to smack the look off of it.

"It seems the Queen has rewarded you greatly," he said, forcing himself to be civil. "The Dream Orchard is fine farmland."

"Greatly, indeed. Always thought I'd get my own land by finding glory, not a dress," Wulfrun chuckled. "If only we could have met on better terms. I imagine she was a beautiful girl."

Inverne grabbed the skin and sat with his back against the wall. He took a long swig and nodded his head. Wulfrun gave his foot a soft kick.

"Better days lay ahead, mate." With that, he skulked off.


End file.
